Monthly Archives: December 2006

We live on an island. I get that. We chose to be here, it’s true. Fortunately, there is a road off this island. Unfortunately, it is a long and narrow road, with lots of construction (which Kid loves for the big diggers) and long lines of cars, especially if you are like us yesterday and go around noon, rather than the crack of dawn. (I can recall our real estate agent saying oh, Poulsbo is just 5 minutes away, over the bridge. Puffery, I ask now, or fraud??) And this construction just seems to get worse, not better. I recall in L.A. after an earthquake the highway road crew was offered bonus incentives to finish early, some huge sum per day, and guess what? They finished early! Real early! Yet, in Poulsbo, that cute, little Scandinavian town, these guys make more mess than progress. Are they getting paid by the hour here, we wonder? Are there Native American burial grounds being discovered that halt the works? Maybe an Indonesian spotted tree frog lives in the way? When we pass by, there is usually some special conference going on. “Do we catch the frogs and relocate them?” “Stash the burial pots and urns and go on?” Or maybe, “No, it’s my turn to drive the Kubota!” Either way, the situation makes this island more of actual island. That bridge over Agate pass merely provides a false sense of freedom. In reality, we must succumb to either the ferry schedule/traffic/cost or the 305 highway construction.

It makes you think before going “off island” — do I really need that kitchen sink? — especially if you will be traveling with little kids, little kids who ask things like “are we there yet?” “where is the store, Mommy?” “is it that store? or that store?” and “knock, knock! Mommy, I said knock, knock!” Don’t these guys realize time is of the essence?! If this keeps up, we will need to create a new legal defense for mothers who deliberately drive off the road and into a tree.

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\ig-nuh-RAY-mus\, noun:An ignorant person; a dunce.

I am quite an ignoramus, I know nothing in the world.– Charlotte Bronte

This was my word of the day, via email. The other day I signed up at dictionary.com. Figure I should expand my vocabulary if I am going to write. Now this. What are they trying to say? I was just trying to improve my Scrabble score, and now there are all these personal accusations. I will have to unsubscribe if they can’t move beyond this attitude. I get enough grief from Kid.

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Having a three-year-old who needs Lots of Running Around means that we go to the park a lot. Almost daily, sometimes, twice daily. The most often visited is the Waterfront Park, or the Grocery Store Park as one of our little friends calls it. It is across the street from a grocery store, so like a mini Sundance Film Festival, you can strike deals in the parking lot. “Yes, we can go to the park, but then we are going to the store/post office/insert your errand of choice.”

My daughter and I ventured there just yesterday when there was a break in the rain. We well-prepared Western Washington moms usually bring towels to wipe down the slides and swings, so our child’s rump can be drier as she rolls around in the dirt and chews on pine cones and wood chips. By the way, why is there no general public towel cabinet at these parks, like the grocery sack/doggie bags you see around at dog parks? Everyone could use a towel when needed and then hang it back up in the cabinet to dry for the next person. A community wipe-down program, if you will. Then, if your spouse generously cleans out your filthy car and neglects to put back the dog/park towel, you are not stuck watching a tiny, wet wad of Kleenex disintegrate as you wipe down the swing seat, your red, damp fingers trembling in the cold breeze…. But I digress.

While we can ward off the wetness with our towel or someone else’s, we cannot ward off the crows. These guys haunt the parks, all the parks. They wait patiently until a toddler drops his little bag of snacks, so thoughtfully packed by mom, and then swoop in and fly off with the entire bag. Yesterday, I saw one grab an individual-sized cracker bag, rip the side open, grab the bottom and shake it to see if anything would fall out. Poor crow, empty. I’ve even seen them dig through tote bags looking for food. I’ve read that they can even figure out how to eat from spray cans of whipped cream. We must never let these crows befriend the Yosemite black bears. Between the bears jumping on car roofs to pop open doors and the crows nimbly opening small packages, they would be able to get into every enclosed space on this island, including your home safe and that bike lock you lost the key for.

For now, at the park, forget about the slides. My daughter has begun having more fun screaming at the top of her lungs, flapping her arms, shaking her head with her tongue hanging out, and chasing off crows. No doubt the little ape likes mimicking the countless moms she has seen doing the exact same thing. Hey, we need our exercise, too.

(this post is also located at http://blog.seattlepi.nwsource.com/bainbridgebreezes/archives/110004.asp)

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My brilliant idea this Christmas was to make a gingerbread house with my daughter and my mother. Costco had these cute little kits, everything included, so I ditched the idea of buying molds and actually baking the walls and roof. Of course, if DH were in charge of this idea, he would be buying a ginger growing window box, a special peeler and chopper for the ginger once its grown, and cast iron to heat up, pour and mold into the shape of a Tudor mansion or maybe just Bill Gates’ house. So sue me, I take shortcuts. This kit was probably made in China, too.

Anyway, the Kid licked it, I mean loved it, especially the mortar, or icing. She also had to sample all the candy, so our house was a little less decorated than the picture on the box. It turned out cute. Kid counted the hours until she was permitted to rip it apart and eat it. Little did she realize, Becca had another plan in mind….

Here’s what Becca didn’t eat (did our return from the park interrupt her?) —

Kid yells, “Becca, bad dog!!” Fortunately, she does not cry.

Kind of reminds me of the news footage of Oklahoma in the summertime, after another twister hits the mobile home park. Two more homeless gingerbread men.

Oh, well, at least I can still get the licorice gumdrops for myself.

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woof woof woof

woof woof woof woof wo….oh, a squirrel!!!

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During the 53 hours our power was out last weekend, we had a dinner party. Yes, it’s true. It included five adults and two three-year-olds. When the adults had finally sat down to eat our feast, the girls went off to play in my Kid’s room. It was quiet at last and we were enjoying our meal. That was our first red flag. At some point, I can’t remember who it was, but someone went to check on the girls. Might have been our guests, at least one parent, possibly both. I can’t recall. What I can recall (and will never forget) is the shriek of the mom from Kid’s room.

“OH MY GOD!!! OH MY GOD!!! OH MY GOD!!!!!!!”

I should have just left the house right then. House full of people, table full of dirty dishes, no running water and probably raining outside.

It seems that Kid broke into a little container of green finger paint and in usual fashion proceeded to smear it on herself and her friend and the rug and the carpet and the chair. I bet it felt good, cool and creamy. She is nothing if not tactile. I am usually amused by how she reacts so innately to her desire to feeeeeeel things, taking off shoes and socks to feel something different with her toes, taking off her shirt to roll on me when I have a cashmere sweater on. That night, not so entertaining. But I realized that when there is one person already having a freak out (and her child), it does not add much to jump on that bandwagon.

I was mad but relatively quiet. It was “washable” paint. I can rant another time about the misuse of the word “washable.” Plus, I lose track of the number of times I have seen Kid with colors all over her body. Paints, food coloring, crayons, markers, lipstick, pens. I know she has this impulse. I had Kid help wipe up the green (as much as possible with NO water!) and we tried to wipe it off her. Her poor friend was suffering a thorough wiping by mad parents in the bathroom. And getting the Cold Bath threat for when they got home. They had water but not heat at their house. I forced a lot of “I will never do this again” promises from Kid.

I then rolled up her now green Little Mermaid rug (well, there is algae in the ocean) to save for the washer on a power-filled day to come. We got most of the green off of Kid with some faint green smears that stayed on for days. And yes, I confiscated all items from her room that could be smeared or used on walls, furniture, carpets or books. Now, she only has her bodily functions as ammo for future days…..

How can I be so laid back about this incident? Timing. Turns out the mess from the dinner party was harder to clean up (without power and water) and depressed me a whole lot more than that paint. I was jealous, too. Kid probably had more fun making her mess.

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